When the fire fades
by Sarcastically. Sunshine
Summary: A series of poems based on the Twilight saga...please tell me what you think of them. If you tell me you hate them, I won't be offended. I just want some feedback please, so R&R. Disclaimer: I don't own the Twilight saga,if you haven't already guessed.
1. When the fire fades

**When the fire fades**

When the songbirds fall silent

as the embers die

and your vision grows clear

you take a breath

and you swear you can smell the very scent of silence

though to your ears the world never goes quiet

the way your mind gathers and calculates

just how many leaves that tree has and

the exact way in which you skin sparkles…

for all that clarity, your memories are dark and dim

like you lived your whole life in a smoky bar

and here is the sunlight

but you're sure if you wanted

--which you surely don't--

you could remember every second of the past few days

such pain…

you thought this was heaven,

but from the way your throat burns and how lost you feel

you're starting to wonder,

could this be hell?


	2. Taken

Taken

All you remember is,

you were walking the streets of some town

with a name you can't recall just now.

You were alone,

a really stupid move on your part,

because just yesterday someone had gone missing.

Near the edge of the houses,

at a time when lights were going off

and where streetlights were rare,

an icy hand clamped over your mouth.

Someone strong carried you away

Everything blurred as you flew through the night,

until the streetlights disappeared

and you could only see the stars.

Nothing is clear,

until you feel something cold at your neck

and you go up in flames.

So here you are, pale and cold as ice,

among others with ruby-red eyes.

All as beautiful as you,

all just as thirsty.

Someone told you, as the pain was clearing

that you must follow

and do as you are told,

and then you can drink.

This could only be a dream, a nightmare,

is what you're thinking,

because your throat hurts with a thirst water can't quench,

and none of this can be real.

So you follow.


	3. Who I Am

This Is Me

Just try to

catch a glimpse of me.

Will you see me for what I am:

my sparkling pale flesh,

my thirst-blackened eyes?

'Cause I'm running so fast,

I feel like I'm flying.

Because, I tell you,

I'm faster than lighting,

cat-like with grace,

strong and steady as a stone,

totally angelic in appearance.

So I kill so fast,

break the neck with one fluid twist.

Lure unthinking men into the shadows

with a laughing voice from full lips,

latching onto their throats in a deadly kiss.

Who am I, what am I,

to shine like a diamond,

a piece of forever?

Who am I, what am I,

to kill without regret?

_I am who, I am what,_

_your fears are made of._


	4. Heaven Wouldn't Take Me

Heaven Wouldn't Take Me, Hell Didn't Want Me

They all watch me turn the corner,

eyes following,

and they all look so hungry.

Their jealousy and lust

may be justified,

'cause I've got more beauty than they could ever have.

But inside, behind this studied mask

of moody concentration,

I'm laughing at their starving eyes.

So maybe I look like a piece of heaven,

but I'm just a fallen angel.

If they all knew

that it was I who thirsted,

that I lusted after

every drop of their blood,

wouldn't they run?

Wouldn't they notice

how red my downcast eyes have become?


	5. To Regain What I've Lost

To Regain What I've Lost

If my eyes could fill with tears,

they'd now be overflowing.

'Cause I've lived too many years as what I am.

And as the time goes by,

fewer memories linger

in their old familiar places in my mind.

Those soft and blurry pictures

seem to fade to black and white

like an out of focus photograph from too long ago.

That was my former life,

a different life,

belonging to another.

Everything now is so much clearer,

so much brighter and cleaner,

so much easier to salvage

from the melee in my head.

All else is trampled underfoot

by each new day as it comes.

All else disintegrates

into the dust I should have been.

And I just find I can't remember

what it meant to be human.

What was it like, to be

without these flames at my throat?

And what was it like to have family,

to have friends?

I used to know,

but all my sharpest memories contain

the taste of blood,

or the scent of the wind as I run.

Such brightness bleaches out

the shadowy remains of my humanity.

And I would burn a thousand times,

feel the flames of my creation,

if I could find my soul in the ashes.

**A/N: I must say, I didn't like this one as much as my last two poems. Hopefully you'll like it anway. The next one should be better. REVIEWS ARE MUCHO APPRECIATED. Especially if they contain virtual macadamia-nut-and-white-chocolate-chip-cookies. Yumz**

**In a desperate attempt to obtain more reviews *grimaces at her word choice* _I WILL REVIEW ANYONE WHO REVIEWS ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_**


	6. Keeping Pace with Time

Keeping Pace with Time

Running the gauntlet of aging and death,

as seconds tick past,

was more than I could bear.

You can't hear the words to the song you're singing

with your heartbeat pounding away.

A wild panic always lurks below the surface,

waiting for a race to drive you on.

But time no longer leaves me

gasping in the dust

I'm running hand in hand

with the death I should have had.

I've missed the finish line,

and now I'm just getting nowhere fast.

And I must have broken some rule

to get out of this race,

ran off the path or something,

maybe jumped a couple fences.

And I must have lost some prize at the end.

But all those law-abiding fools

still running that rat race to oblivion,

don't know how great the other side of the law can be.

They've got their prize,

their land of all the milk and honey they can stand,

but my own brand of eternity,

and such ambrosia as you've only

tasted in dreams,

can compare.

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**A/N: Yeah, I wrote a semi-happy poem for once: quite a rarity for me. Meh, not my favorite, but perhaps it's better than the last. Once again, I'm pretty much desperate for reviews. So, anyone who reviews this or any of my other poems, I will review one or more of your works and add your name to the list on my profile of people who reviewed me. Happy? Good. Now, R&R please.**


	7. Cat and Mouse

I'm blurring

past those plywood-covered windows

and scraggly saplings

that died years ago,

but that no one cared enough about to replace.

And there's that scent I've been waiting for,

so sweet and beckoning

amidst the general bouquet of neglect,

the smell of so much left out to rot.

My steps are silent as the grave,

and I laugh at the thought,

because a grave is something I'll never have.

It doesn't hear me coming,

but still its pace quickens

--heavy feet clacking on gritty cement,

echoes shivering through alleys and streets—

my mouse knows the cat following

is more concrete than fear.

So closely I'm breathing

my cold breath

--just a comfortable habit—

down its neck,

darting to shadows when it's head turns.

.

The mouse scurries ahead

but this is a maze that only I know

in the dark.

Blinded by fear and shadows

it darts back and forth.

Indecision creeps through

like a dribble of snow

down its back.

I can smell the panic drawing near.

And now the prey is whispering:

"So close, so close,"

a little hymn that

(it hopes)

will hold the dark at bay until the safety of its hole.

But then feels the cold-wet wall at its back,

and realizes just how lost it was.

And here I am, closing in.

The mouse's whiskers quiver,

its nose raised, it scents the cat.

Eyes so wide and black with terror.

And I croon my own lullaby,

the sort that invites cold drafts to stay;

the sort winter nights sing:

"So far, so far"

_So far._


End file.
